Inevitable
by kittycat69
Summary: Christine and Michael grew up together. It was pretty inevitable that they would grow up to be best friends. Which is why Christine thinks it's a great idea to get this virginity thing out of the way with Michael. "You know, Christine, normal people don't just march into a guy's room and announce they should have sex. I'm pretty sure it doesn't work that way." ChristinexMichael.
1. Chapter 1

**Inevitable**

* * *

><p>Christine Angela Booth and Michael Staccato Vincent Hodgins spent almost every day together growing up. Their mothers are practically sisters. They went to the same day care, same schools, same camps, and they hung out together at the lab every day after school.<p>

Some would say it was pretty inevitable that they would grow up to best friends.

Which is why Christine thinks it's a perfectly reasonable suggestion to get this virginity thing out of the way with Michael.

"For someone who is so smart, you're being really stupid right now," he exclaims a few minutes after she explains her suggestion.

He is sitting on the floor of his bedroom next to a pile of dirty laundry and physics textbooks. His back is leaned against the side of the bed with his legs stretched out in front of him. He keeps sighing and running his hand thorough his dark, curly hair. Christine just wants to hit is hand and make him stop, because when he plays with his hair too much it gets all messy and tends to stick up in odd places. She's curled up on the end of his unmade bed, peering down at her best friend on the floor. She is wearing mismatched striped socks that she stole from her father.

"What's the big deal?" she asks nonchalantly, "My request is pretty reasonable. And it will solve both our problems."

"What specifically," Michael runs his hand through his hair again, "is our problem?"

"We're virgins," she deadpans, "Are you even paying attention to this conversation? I've already explained the problem."

Michael's response is to make a sound of protest that comes off like a cross between a groan and a sigh.

Christine rolls her eyes, "Why is this bothering you? It's not a big deal," she crosses her arms over her baggy knit sweater and gives him a pointed look, "Don't you want to get the whole awkward 'first time' thing out of the way too?"

Michael can't help get the feeling that Christine is enjoying this conversation much more than she should be.

"Why is virginity such a problem to you?" he finally asks after a few moments of silence, "Plenty of people are virgins. We aren't the only ones, you know."

"Yes, I know. _I'm_ not the one who thinks virginity is a problem. It's our peers at school who have a problem with it," her reply is casual, as if she were discussing the material covered in their history class today, "Besides, we're going to lose our virginities eventually. Makes sense to get it over with now. We are best friends and we trust each other. It's logical for us to do it."

It seems reasonable enough to Christine.

Michael is baffled. How can she be so _logical_ about something this important?

"You know, Christine, normal people don't just march into a guy's room and announce they should have sex. I'm pretty sure it doesn't work that way."

Christine looks confused, "Why not?"

"Because," Michael speaks slowly, "Because that's just not how it works. Walking in here and asking for sex shouldn't sound like you're walking in here to ask to borrow my phone charger."

She chuckles at his analogy before he continues to speak.

"Normally, people are dating or in love when they have sex," Michael explains further, "It's not just sex for them, it's making love. There's a difference."

Christine eyes her friend carefully, "And how would you know that, Mikey?"

Michael blushes.

"I'm not saying I have any personal experience in the area," he clarifies, "I just read a lot."

"Well, you're wrong," Christine smirks down at her friend on the floor, "You don't have to be in love to have sex. People have meaningless sex all the time. Like one night stands or friend's with benefits and stuff like that."

"I'm not really into meaningless sex," Michael shrugs, "I'm not that guy. Find someone else."

Christine crosses her arms across her chest and replies with a teasing smile, "Mikey, you don't _have_ to have sex with me. If you don't want to, that's completely okay with me. I won't take it personally or anything. It was just a suggestion, that's all."

Just as Michael is about to open his mouth to answer, Angela's voice can be heard calling "Dinner time!" from downstairs in the kitchen.

"Dinner's ready, Chris," Michael listens to the sound of his siblings' footsteps as they all race downstairs for dinner. He looks up at his best friend and makes a waving motion towards the door with his hand, "We should go before my brother and sisters eat it all."

Christine laughs at the thought and stands up. She takes a moment to stretch her back and check the time on her phone. She shoves her phone back in her pant's pocket as she struts out of Michael's bedroom.

"Don't be all weird about this," she calls over her shoulder.

"I won't be," he mumbles to himself as he stands up and follows her downstairs, "Because nothing is going to happen."

.

.

.

.

.

But it _does_ happen.

.

.

.

.

.

Their parents are sent to the Montana wilderness to investigate a series of brutal murders in some small towns.

Christine is left home alone. She orders pizza and Micahel comes over after school so they can study for their upcoming physics test. They study for a couple hours before they both get bored and turn on the TV. One moment they're watching re-runs of The Big Bang Theory, and then one thing led to another and it just…happens.

Christine doesn't understand why people make such a big deal over sex, quite frankly.

When she mentions this to Michael, he gets quiet. He unmutes The Big Bang Theory and pretends to be engrossed in the episode. Christine rolls her eyes as he pretends she isn't next to him.

They watch the rest of the show naked.

.

.

.

.

.

And it happens several more times after that.

Christine's glad they both got it over with and out of the way. She is glad they were able to do it together, since they are so close and they trust each other.

'_It's not a big deal.'_

Christine keeps repeating this to both of them as they lie together afterwards. Their heavy breathing is almost rhythmic. She can hear his heart pounding when she lays her head on his chest. His arm wraps around her shoulders. She closes her eyes with a soft, content sigh.

'_It's not a big deal.'_

She's glad they are just friends. Otherwise, this would probably have been a really big deal.

He kisses the top of her head and doesn't reply when she says everything is okay.

She wishes he would say something. Anything.

'_It's not a big deal.'_

'_It's not a big deal.'_

'_It's not a big deal.'_

But she's wrong.

This is a big deal.


	2. Chapter 2

**It's been a while! Hopefully I can update this more frequently now that I've figured out where the heck I want to go with the plot! Enjoy! Please review because they make me happy! :)**

**Note**: Michael and Christine are around 17 years old. Christine does not have any siblings, but Michael has two younger siblings. **Patrick Zachary ****Marcato Hodgins** (age 15) and **Annabelle Temperance ****Caesura ****Hodgins** (age 11). Patrick is named after Jack's uncle and Zack Addy. Annabelle is Jack's mother's name, and Temperance of course references to Brennan. The Caesura and Marcato are musical terms, which keeps with the Staccato in Michael's name. _Marcato_ is a musical instruction indicating a note, chord, or passage is to be played louder or more forcefully than surrounding music. And a _Caesura_ is a complete pause in a line of poetry or in a musical composition. And in case you didn't know, a Staccato signifies a note of shortened duration, separated from the note that may follow by silence.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Bones!

* * *

><p><strong>Inevitable<strong>

**Chapter Two**

.

Wearing an old stretched-out t-shirt and plaid boxers, Michael breaks three eggs into a bowl and whisks them quickly with a fork.

Stupid eggs.

Michael is not a morning person. He never was, but he certainly isn't now that he lies awake at night thinking of _her_.

Stupid Christine.

He barely gets any sleep at night, and when he wakes up, he is frustrated in more ways than one.

(Some of these frustrations he can solve by himself, but that just means he thinks about her _then_ too.)

Michael pours his raw eggs into the hot skillet on the stove. He scowls down at his eggs. The eggs sizzle back at him because he has the heat of the burner turned on too high. The eggs will probably end up a little burnt in some places.

Oh, well.

Stupid eggs.

Stupid Christine.

He must be the _only _teenage male on the entire planet who is complaining about unlimited, no-strings-attached sex. But it isn't enough for him. While the sex is great and all (and it certainly satisfies those frustrations he tries to hide so well), it's clear to Michael that sex simply isn't enough.

How can she think this is _enough_ for him?

Nothing will ever be enough for him. He will never have enough of her. He will never be close enough to her. He wants all of her, yes. But not just sexually. Not just her body. He wants all of her; heart, body, mind, and soul.

Stupid eggs.

Stupid Christine.

Stupid, stupid _feelings_ for Christine.

Michael turns off the burner. He picks up the skillet so he can scrape his half-burnt scrambled eggs onto a plate. He places the used skillet back on the stove, deciding that he will clean the dishes after breakfast.

He sighs down at the eggs on the plate in front of him.

Does she really care about the opinions of their peers that much? So much so that she feels the need to instigate meaningless sex with her best friend?

Michael growls and pushes the offending plate of eggs away from him. God, something has to distract him from her. If he spends the rest of his life thinking of her, he will go insane.

Out of the corner of his eye, Michael spots his sketchbook on a nearby table. Perfect, he decides. A quick sketch will take his mind off of her.

The eggs are left forgotten on the counter, as Michael opens his sketchpad and focuses his attention on the bowl of fruit on the counter.

A bowl of fruit, he decides, is a much safer thing to focus on than trying to figure out the whirlwind in his head from Christine.

* * *

><p>Michael is trying (unsuccessfully) to sketch the bowl of fruit on the kitchen counter. He sits on the kitchen barstool with one hand supporting his chin and the other drawing the gentle curve of the apple in the fruit bowl. But he simply cannot focus. His hand is betraying him, and the pencil begins trace <em>her<em> curves instead of the curves of the fruit.

The pears become her hips, the oranges become her breasts…

Michael tears the drawing out of his sketchbook with a groan, and tosses the paper onto the floor at his feet.

He runs his hands through his messy, morning hair.

"You look frustrated," his mom points out as she walks into the kitchen.

_Ha, frustrated is damn right._

"What are you doing up so early on a summer morning?"

Michael looks at the clock on the stove. It's 8:17am.

"Couldn't sleep," Michael replies.

_God, if she only knew the half of it._

Angela reaches over to scoop up a forkful of her son's eggs. She puts them in her mouth, "Yuck, Mike," she exclaims with a grimace, "Your eggs are cold…and a little burnt."

Michael shrugs.

Angela gestures to the plate of eggs and used skillet on the stove, "Will you please clean up the kitchen when you're finished with breakfast?"

He nods his response as he scowls at the oranges in the fruit bowl.

Stupid oranges.

Stupid Christine.

He only looks up when he hears his mom put on her jacket in the entryway.

"Where are you going?" he calls to her.

"The Lab," she calls back, "Brennan needs a face for the body they found last night."

"But it's Saturday."

Angela walks back into the kitchen to fetch her purse from the kitchen barstool next to Michael, "Unfortunately, death doesn't seem to care that it's my day off."

Michael nods.

Angela continues to speak as she checks her purse for her keys and wallet and other items she will need throughout the day, "Your father is already on his way to the Lab, right after he drops off Annabelle at a friend's house. Do you plan on coming to the lab today? Patty can come to the Lab too if he wants, or he can stay here and hang out at home by himself."

"Yeah, I'll probably come to the Lab. But I'm sure Patty would rather watch tv here instead."

"I figured as such."

"Christine and I will probably get some homework done there."

"Homework? It's summer, Mikey."

"Dad and Brennan thought it would be a good idea for us both to take a science class or two online through the community college this summer. We are both taking anatomy."

"Well, don't stress yourself out too much over it. It's summer and you both should be relaxing."

"I know, Mom," Michael smiles at his mother, "It's not too hard. And we're only taking one class."

"Is that why you're so frustrated this morning?"

Michael sighs down at the counter top, "Well, not exactly."

Angela reaches over to grab an orange from the fruit bowl on the kitchen counter. As she does, she notices the discarded ball of paper on the floor. She bends down to pick it up, and soothes it out on the counter. She looks at Michael's sketch, and then turns to look at her son.

"You _sure_ you're okay?"

Michael playfully rolls his eyes, "I'm fine, Mom."

"Your fruit say otherwise."

"What do my fruit drawings to do with anything?"

"You're an expressive artist, sweetie. Even more so than I am," Angela smiles at her son, "Ever since you were little, I could take one look at your art and figure out what you were feeling," she looks back down at the sketch as she continues, "Your fruit give me a sense of longing. But it's deeper and more complex than that. Like you're feeling a million feelings at once, really. But the way you ripped the sketch out of the pad shows me you're frustrated and angry…and possibly a little hurt."

Michael doesn't look up from the kitchen counter.

Angela continues, "I take it I'm not too far off with my guess, then."

All Michael can do is nod. This certainly isn't the first time Angela has correctly guessed what her eldest son was thinking.

"Michael, sweetie, whatever's bouncing around that handsome head of yours, just remember that I'm always here to talk if you need me. And so is your father."

She leans over to kiss the top of his head before turning and walking towards the front door.

"I love you, Mikey," she calls as she opens the door, "See you soon."

"Bye, Mom," he calls back, his eyes never leaving the drawing on the counter in front of him, "Love you too."

As the door clicks shut behind her, Michael's phone lights up with a text. He reaches across the counter to bring his phone over in front of him. He slides the touchscreen to unlock the phone and opens the unread text.

**Stapes: u going to the lab today? :) wanna drive or should i?**

Michael sighs.

Oh, Christine.

How can she possibly think that sex is the answer to their emerging problems?

Does she really think this is _enough_ for him? For _them_?

His mind flashes back to when they were lying in Michael's bed. It must have been the third or fourth time they ended up there together. Tangled in the blankets and tangled up in each other.

'_It's not a big deal.'_

She rested her head on his chest with a sigh and whispered that everything was going to be okay.

'_It's not a big deal.'_

'_It's not a big deal.'_

As he placed a soft kiss to the top of head, he knew she was waiting for him to say something back. But he couldn't figure out how to respond.

And he sure as hell knew that this was a big deal.

**Michael: i'll drive. b there in 30 min.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Inevitable**

**Chapter 3:**

.

It's a little after 5:30 in the morning. It's a summer morning too, which means Christine certainly has no reason in the world to be awake at this hour. But her brain won't shut up and let her sleep.

She is frustrated. In more ways than one, but she is starting to suspect that all her frustrations have a common source.

Stupid Michael.

_What the hell has happened to their friendship lately? _

Over the past month or so (especially after they had sex that first time), things between them have been getting progressively more and more uncomfortable and awkward. Christine has never felt awkward or uncomfortable around Michael in her life. They're best friends; nothing should be weird between them.

But, suddenly, everything is changing.

Michael looks at her differently…she can't quite figure out why though. And she catches herself looking at him more too. They stutter and blush around each other.

They never used to do that!

And the silences between them, which used to be as comfortable as sleep, are now deafeningly loud and make Christine feel uneasy.

Why did she have to tell him she wanted this because of peer pressure? That couldn't be farther from the truth. She doesn't care for one second what her peers think. She is confident enough to not succumb to peer pressure.

But she isn't confident enough to tell Michael her real reason for suggesting this plan.

She's _scared_.

Fucking scared. Like a child. Scared of losing her best friend as they grow up, graduate, and go their separate ways.

Which is why she came up with this stupid idea in the first place. Not because she's a heartless slut…her intentions weren't to _seduce_ him. She was just trying to be logical about it. Her backwards logic thought that if they lost their virginities to each other, they would always have at least that to bond them together. So then when they drifted apart (something Christine thinks is inevitably going to happen after they graduate high school) they would always have that connection.

Part of her knows she is being irrational. But the other part can't help but think the worst.

She can't help but imagine her and Michael drifting apart. She can't stand the thought of losing him; he's her best friend. The bond they have is so strong…but what if the bond between them dissipates over time?

Christine imagines her and Michael going to separate colleges, starting new lives in different cities…or, she pales, different states! They fall out of touch. Suddenly, they go from seeing each other almost every day to only seeing each other at holidays and yearly Hodgins-Booth family summer vacations.

And maybe one year, he brings a girl home for the holidays.

Christine doesn't understand why, but the thought of Michael with another woman makes her stomach flip.

She sighs. This wasn't how she wanted this to happen. This wasn't her plan. Her plan was to have sex once, lose their virginities to each other, and then continue being best friends as they grew older.

She really didn't want _this_.

She didn't think they would actually go through with it. And she certainly didn't think they would do it more than once. She didn't anticipate the consequences of her actions; that they would spiral into a friends-with-benefits type of relationship with each other. That they would become _addicted_ to each other, for lack of a better word.

And she _certainly_ didn't think she was suddenly going to unearth hidden feelings for her best friend.

Can't her brain sort all the problems out while she's sleeping?

Oh, Michael.

He's so damn frustrating. And confusing. And lately her brain has forgotten how to function whenever she's around him.

_What's the deal with that?_

Michael is her best friend. That's it. He is definitely nothing more than a best friend.

_I mean, come on,_ Christine thinks to herself, _we took naps together and naked baths together and went to the same summer camps! I've seen him pick his nose, and he's seen me eat glue off my hand. Michael is my best friend, and that's it!_

She has known him for as long as she can remember. They grew up together. They're best friends.

_Why doesn't that feel like enough anymore?_

Why does she suddenly think about him so often? Why does she catch herself looking at him when she has no reason to? Why does she lie awake at 5:30 in the morning thinking about the next time she will see him?

Michael is bound to pick her up to go to the Lab later today. They had developed a system of alternating who drove to the lab, since they both went so frequently (nearly every day during the summer) and it was pointless for them both to drive themselves. This week is Christine's turn to drive, but she rarely ends up driving. Michael usually offers to drive more than his share of the time. Christine knows he does this partly because he loves the control of being behind the wheel, and partly because she always drives at least 20 miles per hour over the legal speed limit, something she probably inherited from her father.

Oh God, the promise and threat of seeing him later that day nearly makes her want to shake out of her own skin. And Christine can't quite figure out why, but she feels like her whole body shakes and burns and…_explodes_ when she sees him lately. But in less than 12 hours, he will be standing in the entryway of the house. And she can almost _feel_ his presence on the Earth, and how it is slowly approaching towards her like a planet gravitates towards the sun.

_That's it_, Christine decides, _I've clearly gone insane._

She shakes her head to try and clear her thoughts. Who the hell cares where he is now and where he will be in less than 12 hours! It's 5:37 in the morning! She should be fast asleep right now. He probably is asleep right now too! It's summer and she shouldn't even be awake any time before 9 am.

But how can she sleep when her brain keeps reminding her that he will be here soon.

Soon he will be in this house. He will walk through the doorway and into the house. His shoes will be touching the hardwood floor that she stands on, and his lungs will be breathing the same air as she is. He will stand in the entryway, right in front of her. He will make eye contact with her and he will greet her with a grin on his face.

And Christine doesn't know whether she will explode into a million pieces or melt into a puddle at his feet…seriously, _why can't she seem to act normally around him anymore?_

When she pictures him standing there, why does she suddenly get the urge to kiss him?

And _really_ kiss him. Not those bullshit frantic kisses they exchange when they hook up. But a real, slow kiss with passion and feelings and emotions included.

_Wait…feelings? _She frowns as she thinks,_ I don't have feelings for Michael. He is my best friend, and that's all._

Christine sighs. Who is she trying to fool here? It's 5:41 in the morning, and she can't even attempt to lie to herself at such an ungodly hour.

Okay, so maybe she is starting to fall for Michael. But it will go away on its own, like all the other crushes she's had before.

Besides, Christine can't allow herself to think these thoughts about her best friend! They have a great friendship, and she doesn't want to ruin that with any complications. Whatever feelings she may or may not have, they aren't worth looking into. Figuring out her feelings will only cause problems in their friendship, and the last thing Christine wants to do is ruin her friendship with Michael.

She shrugs and decides it's best to leave them untouched, and maybe they will go away.

"Go to sleep," Christine groans out loud to her brain. She rolls over to try and find a different sleeping position.

* * *

><p>Christine jolts awake as the alarm on her phone loudly goes off.<p>

_Damn,_ she groggily thinks, _is it 9am already?_

Her blankets are cocooned around her legs, which is evidence that she probably tossed around a lot in her sleep. She untangles herself from her blankets and reaches over to her phone on the bedside table. She turns off the alarm.

With a yawn, she opens an unread text from her mother.

**Mom: Body found early this morning. On my way to the Lab. Dad should be leaving later too. You and Michael can come to the Lab if you want. Love you. **

The text was sent at 4:02 that morning, during some of the short hours Christine actually fell asleep last night.

_I wonder if Mikey is awake yet,_ Christine asks herself.

She decides against calling him in case he is still sleeping, so she opens her contact list and sends him a quick text.

**u going to the lab today? :) wanna drive or should i?**

Christine sends the message, and then places her phone back on her bedside table. She stretches as she gets out of bed. Maybe a shower will help wake her up. She is slipping on her robe when Michael's text comes through.

**Michael: i'll drive. b there in 30 min.**

Christine rolls her eyes at her phone as she ties her robe and walks out of her bedroom towards the bathroom down the hall.

A nice, hot shower will help put her mind at ease.

* * *

><p>Michael knocks on the door as he lets himself in to the Booth house.<p>

"Chris, I'm here!" He calls out into the house.

"Be right down!" Her voice echoes from somewhere upstairs.

"Sounds good!" He shouts back.

"Hey, kid," Booth's voice calls from the kitchen, "Come on in!"

Michael follows the sound and rounds the corner to walk into the kitchen. Agent Booth stands in the middle of the kitchen. He is pouring the last couple sips of his mug of coffee into his mouth. He is dressed for work, cocky belt buckle and all. His tie (a handsome maroon color today) is hanging un-tied from the collar of his light grey button-down shirt. Booth notices Michael walk into the kitchen. He swallows his final sip of coffee, and turns to smile at the boy.

"Hey there, Mikey. Good morning so far?"

Michael shrugs his response, "Yeah. Nothing to complain about so far, you?"

"Just murder," Booth turns to rinse his mug off in the sink. He continues to talk to Michael over his shoulder, "But that's fairly normal around this group, I suppose."

Michael nods, "Does it look like a difficult case?"

Booth opens the dishwasher to place his mug on the top shelf, "We aren't quite sure yet, since the body was only found early this morning."

Michael remembers his mom mentioned something similar when they spoke in the kitchen that morning.

"Ah, I see."

Booth closes the dishwasher and turns to face Michael with a smile, "Of course, Bones left early this morning so she could meet the body when it arrived at the Lab."

Michael chuckles, "That sound's about normal."

Booth shrugs, "Well, the sooner we identify the body, the sooner we can notify relatives and move forward with solving the case."

_Thump! Thump! Thump!_

Although Christine is only about average weight and height, she has the tendency to walk down stairs sounding like a stampede of elephants.

"Damn, Christine, walk softer!" Booth calls out as Christine rounds the corner and walks into the kitchen. She is wearing black yoga pant capris and a thin, oversized navy crew neck pullover.

Michael, always the artist, can't help but notice that the navy color of her sweatshirt contrasts perfectly with her strawberry blonde curly hair.

Christine shoots a playful smirk at her father, "Yeah, I'll try, Daddy."

She turns and her eyes meet Michael's. He has a soft smile on his lips, and his hands are tucked into the pockets of his beige cargo shorts.

_Why does it suddenly feel like forever since I've seen him?_

Her face splits into a grin as her eyes take in the sight of him, "Hey there, stranger."

His smile widens, "Hey, Stapes."

"Well I've gotta run," Booth's voice suddenly sounds a thousand miles away, "We have a murder to solve. See you both at the Lab soon, okay?"

Christine tears her eyes away from Michael's face to answer her father.

"See you soon, Dad," see calls after him as he walks out of the kitchen, "Love you!"

"Bye, Booth!" Michael calls out as well.

Michael and Christine hear Booth close the door. The lock slides into place.

Silence.

Christine is suddenly aware she is alone with Michael. Her palms start to sweat.

"Um, ready to go?" Michael asks, "You should grab your anatomy stuff, so we can work on homework while we're at the Lab."

Christine nods, "Um yeah, good idea..."

Michael is looking at her in that new way again; he has a slightly questioning look in his eyes as he tilts his head ever so slightly to one side. Like she's a painting he is trying to interpret the meaning of…or like she's a difficult math problem he can't quite figure out, and he is trying to see the missing pieces of the equation. But it's slightly deeper than that. He looks like he is trying to see _through_ her.

And Christine would do anything to know what is running through his head right now. She thinks of all the times growing up when she was able to guess what he was thinking before he even had a chance to say it. He used to call her a mind reader. They used to be strong enough friends to always know what the other was thinking, but things have changed between them. Something is different, and Christine can't pinpoint what the cause of it is.

Suddenly, Christine's mind takes her back to that first time on the couch in her living room. It was Michael who leaned in and kissed her first. He wanted her. And she wanted him too.

Christine remembers asking herself what caused him to change his mind and agree to her plan…but soon her question was forgotten, and her brain had shut itself off. Their hands and lips were suddenly everywhere at once. Clothes fell to the floor in piles. Michael's hands were shaking and Christine couldn't stop blushing. The dialogue of The Big Bang Theory played in the background and the moment ended up feeling…_rushed_.

Christine can't help but wonder if they rushed the moment because they were both trying to complete the act before one of them came to their senses and stopped them.

_But they didn't stop. _

Christine becomes aware of the uncomfortable silence in the room, and realizes she should continue her sentence.

"…I'll run upstairs and get my stuff real quick," she turns on heel and walks out of the kitchen, "Be right back."

As she thunders back up the stairs, Michael sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

_What the hell is happening to us?_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4:**

.

"Hey Chris, do you know the answer to number six?"

"Not yet."

Michael and Christine are sitting on the catwalk at the Jeffersonian. They usually do their homework in the furnished area that overlooks the lab space. The couches and chairs are surprisingly comfortable, and a room full of vending machines is thankfully close-by.

Below the catwalk, Hodgins, Brennan, and Cam evaluate the body of the petite, twenty-two year old Caucasian woman who was brought to the lab early that morning. Booth is leaning against the railing of the lab area, watching the scientists work and taking notes in a small notepad. Angela is in her office, trying to find the name of the young woman, who was found without her wallet or any form of identification.

Christine and Michael, who are trying to finish on their anatomy homework for their summer class, can easily drown out the voices of the scientists working below.

Christine sighs loudly from the chair opposite Michael, "Why did we think taking a summer class was a good idea?"

Michael shrugs in response and takes a drink of his water bottle, "In retrospect, taking anatomy over the summer wasn't a good idea."

"Clearly," Christine rolls her eyes, "But taking it over the summer in six weeks sure as hell beats taking it at school in three months.

"It will be good to get it over with," Michael agrees with a nod and focuses his attention back down at the textbook in his hands. He can't help but feel like their conversation feels almost…robotic. They aren't teasing or playful or flirty like they used to be. They're almost emotionless with their conversation, something he isn't used to between them.

But things have changed.

He clears his throat, "So do you have the answer for six yet?"

Christine looks down to her textbook to a picture of a bone on the open page, "I'm pretty positive…it's an ulna."

Michael squints at the picture, "I think it looks like a humerus, actually."

"No way," Christine looks up from the book to meet Michael's eyes, "The bone in that picture is too small to be a humerus. It _has_ to be a forearm bone. Ulna or radius."

Michael shakes his head to disagree, "But the ends of the bone make it look like a humerus. See where it should connect to the joints on both ends?"

Christine sighs, "Well, it would be a million times easier to do this assignment if these pictures were more defined," she scowls down at the offending book in her lap, "How _old_ are these books anyway?"

"The picture is pretty hard to see," Michael agrees.

Christine looks up to Michael with a smirk on her face, "You know, we are currently sitting in a lab…"

Michael matches her smirk with one of his own as he finishes her sentence, "…One that's filled with bones. A whole basement of bones, actually."

Christine stands up and places her book on the coffee table in front of her, "Do you think our parents would mind if we drop into Limbo to look at some arm bones?" She slips her sandals back on her feet and stretches her arms above her head.

"Doubt it," Michael stands and picks up his book to take with them down to the basement, "But we should probably ask on our way down."

Christine nods, "Good idea."

* * *

><p>"The picture is clearly a humerus."<p>

"No way," Christine smirks and twirls the arm bone in her gloved right hand, "The picture looks exactly like this bone. And this is an ulna."

"I want to look for myself," Michael crosses his arms over his chest, "You've had it long enough. I should have gone first, I'm older."

"Oh, please!" Christine rolls her eyes, "Are you _really_ playing that game?"

"Hell yeah I am," Michael grins, "I'm older, so I should look at it first."

"By like nine months!"

"Still counts!"

The smile that widens on Michael's face is a little too…evil, Christine's brain decides.

Considering the speed at which Michael's arms move, the fact that Christine is able to stop him from snatching the bone away from her hand on the first try is a flat-out miracle, but somehow she is able to keep the bone out of his grasp not once, not twice, but three times.

She squeals and giggles each time he misses the bone.

And suddenly they are normal again. They are teasing and playful and _best_ _friends_ again. Like they always have been. For a moment, Michael remembers how things used to be. For a moment, the awkward feelings between them disappear.

"You can't win, I will prevail!" he bellows as they circle each other like two boxers in the ring.

Michael raises his knee to jab Christine playfully in the stomach. Her feet shuffle backwards as she sticks her butt out to narrowly dodge his playful attack.

When she straightens, her back collides with the cold, stone wall.

A new smile spreads on Michael's face – this one even more sinister than his first. It shows Christine know that she's cornered like an animal about to become a hunter's prey.

A flash of mixed emotions flows through her in the one second it takes her best friend to produce that smile.

And she instinctively reacts before she even has a chance to seriously consider what her actions may cause.

She raises her right leg to playfully kick the side of his stomach. She almost makes contact with his side, but his hand catches her ankle.

His hand doesn't let go.

She flicks her leg to try and break free from his grasp, but all she manages to do is kick off her sandal.

Almost in slow motion, Michael and Christine watch the sandal fall to the floor with a soft thud. They both stare at the sandal for the length of time it takes for them both to continue breathing.

Forever, it seems.

Michael is suddenly very aware of how smooth Christine's skin is in his hand. His thumb absentmindedly caresses the curve of her Achilles' tendon. He looks up to Christine's face, and sees her still staring at the sandal.

Christine cannot peel her eyes from her sandal. She is almost in shock as to how it ended up on the floor. Which is strange, she reminds herself, since she is the one who accidently kicked it off onto the floor.

She can feel his eyes on her face, watching her for a reaction. She is sure Michael is wondering why she hasn't looked up from the shoe. More time passes, and Christine can't help but try to figure out what the hell caused her to try and kick Michael in the side. What the hell kind of flawed impulse caused her to try and kick him?

_He had me trapped,_ she reasons with herself, _If I didn't try to get away…If I didn't try to distract him, he would've—_

_I would've—_

_We might've—_

Christine doesn't look up at Michael's face while she tries to figure out the thoughts running in circles in her head. She doesn't want to know how long she has been staring at her sandal on the stone floor.

"Maybe we should put that _humerus_ back into the drawer sometime this century, eh Stapes?"

Christine's eyes flick up, lock magnetically onto Michael's as he finishes his sentence with a chuckle.

"It's…"

Her brain can barely form a word, much less a sentence, but it doesn't matter; the air between them is completely still.

Michael is smirking at her now, "What did you say?"

"It's…an ulna."

Their movements are almost simultaneous.

He pulls on her ankle to crash her hips against his, and she reaches her arms around his neck like a hook. She drags his head down with more strength than he thought she had. Michael's hand (the one that isn't holding on to Christine's ankle) wraps around her waist and up the back of her shirt. His hand ghosts a touch against the small of her back. He can feel her shiver; it moves through her entire body.

He feels her shiver on her lips as he easily works to open them with his own.

Michael fights against the need to pull her hips closer, although they are already pressed flush against his. But this isn't close enough.

Nothing is _ever_ going to be close enough for him.

Christine runs her left hand through Michael's hair. Her right hand is slung over his neck; the arm bone is tight in her grasp.

Michael releases his hold on Christine's ankle and moves his free hand to tangle into her curly hair, to pull her into a deeper kiss. Christine lowers her leg back to the ground. She shivers as her bare foot makes contact with the cold floor.

Just as Michael pushes his hips back against Christine's, his brain reminds him of what he is doing.

They are ruining _everything_.

He hesitates and jerks away slightly, his teeth knocking awkwardly against hers as he mutters, "Damn, Chris... Sorry."

He chuckles a quick laugh against the side of her nose.

"No..." she gives a soft moan of protest.

She leans her body back against his and gasps past his teeth, "Shut up. Don't Stop. Touch me."

And suddenly, before his brain has the chance to protest, his hands are _everywhere_.

His hands run through her hair, along her jaw, neck, collarbone. They rush across her skin, shaking and hurried. Arms, shoulders, back. She moans against his lips when one of his hands runs down the back of her shirt to her butt.

And all she can think is yes. Touch me.

Neither one of them realizes that they are completely out in the open. Anyone –an intern or god-forbid _their parents _–could walk down the stairs and see them right now. Neither one of them realizes they are slowly and painfully destroying their friendship each and every time they do this. And they tell themselves every time they won't do it again, and they somehow end up back in each other's arms. They don't realize until it's over, and by then it's too late.

But neither one of them realizes it yet.

Their lips dance franticly against each other. They only part only to gasp a breath, and even then only for the briefest of moments.

"W-what—" Michael grunts into Christine's mouth. His voice is so deep it sounds bottomless as it bounces off the inner walls of her mouth. She softly gasps in the millisecond her lips aren't covered by his.

"Wh—" and again Michael doesn't get to finish his sentence, because Christine's tongue gets in the way. She moans into him, a feminine, breathy sound.

She pulls her lips off of his and leads a burning trail of kisses along his jaw. She buries her nose in the dip behind his ear, where his hairline meets his jawbone, simultaneously basking in and choking on his scent. His hips dig into hers and he presses her body harder against the cold wall.

"Cameras…" he groans out with a shudder as Christine's hot breath tickles the hairs on the back of his neck.

She doesn't so much hear his groan as she _feels_ the noise's vibration in her bones.

"But what about the…" his breath catches, "...cameras?"

The end of his sentence gets lost somewhere behind her back molars.

"I ch-checked," she answers between frenzied kisses, "This is one…of three blind spots—" she gasps when his hand snakes up her shirt, "—I've found that the cameras…d-don't cover."

Michael separates their mouths so he can leave a trail of kisses across her jaw, to her ear, and down her neck. He pauses at her collarbone to mumble, "Wait, how the _heck_ did you figure that out?", against her neck. He brings his head back up to look shoot a curious glance at her.

"Dad's a cop, Mom's a genius, and Grandpa's a criminal," she shrugs, "I guess you could say it's in my blood."

"You sure do enjoy bending the rules, Christine," he gasps as her hands find their way up the back his shirt, "I wonder if that's something you inherited from Max."

Christine rolls her eyes, "Mikey, we're about to sneak a quicky in limbo, now isn't exactly the time to bring up my grandpa."

"I believe you brought him up first," Michael replies as he leans down to plant light kisses along her collarbone."

Christine gasps, "Oh, shut up," and pulls his head up to kiss his lips.

It's impossible to even think about stopping, although Michael _knows_ how this must look. Their parents could walk down any second.

Christine fights an internal battle in her brain. Her rational side knows they have to stop this. They have to stop having sex; it's ruining their friendship. And they have to stop making out, because they could very easily get caught. But the rest of her, the other 99.9% of her, can't stand that there is so much of her skin he hasn't touched yet with his large, shaking hands.

She moans into his mouth again as one of his wandering hands happens to find her left breast. It presses gently, desperately, eagerly. The thin material of her sweatshirt gathers between his knuckles.

Christine's kisses abruptly stop when the fingertips of Michael's other hand dip below the waistband of her black yoga pants.

She _finally_ realizes what they are doing.

"Wait."

"Wait?" Michael parrots with a laugh, "Quickies are supposed to be quick, Chris. That's why they're called 'quickies'."

He leans in to kiss her again, while his left index finger traces along the top of her lace panties.

"I said wait, Michael," Christine's voice is calm, "Stop."

His hands freeze.

Concern washes over his face, and he removes his hands from her body, "What's wrong?"

Christine looks back down to her forgotten sandal on the floor, "I just…I don't think this is a good idea."

Michael's eyebrows knit together in confusion, "But, Chris, this was your idea."

Christine shakes her head to disagree, "_You_ leaned in first."

"No," Michael shakes his head, "I thought _you_ did."

"Either way," Christine raises her gaze from the sandal on the floor to Michael's confused face, "I just don't think we should do this right now."

"You're right," Michael is frustrated with himself as he looks over to the nearby staircase, "Someone could come down."

Christine nods and moves to slide her sandal back on her foot, "Exactly."

Michael suddenly feels dirty. His hands feel greasy and they won't stop shaking. He can't quite figure out what overcame him. He didn't want to do that.

He looks over at Christine, who is placing the arm bone back in the drawer.

Stupid Christine.

She is driving him crazy, making him lose his mind, and keeping him awake at night. He wants her. All of her. But he doesn't want her like that. He cares about her and has feelings for her; he doesn't want to fuck her in Limbo like some slut. He doesn't want _that_.

And he _was_ being rational. Part of him tried to stop before they went too far. But she asked for him to touch her. Something overcame him, and all is rational thoughts vanished. His brain shut off.

He is disgusted at himself for treating her that way.

Christine is placing the arm bone back in the drawer. She isn't sure why, but she suddenly feels used. Which is confusing, since the whole friends-with-benefits thing was _her_ idea in the first place. Right?

_But why did he change his mind?_

She remembers that first time, when they were on the couch watching The Big Bang Theory. It had been weeks since that day in his bedroom when she brought up her plan and he shot it down. But _he_ was the one who muted the television, leaned over, and kissed her. He is the one whose kisses grew more and more passionate. He took off her shirt, held himself over her.

He started it. He changed his mind.

_But why did he change his mind?_

Christine sighs. There is such a tension between them lately. She can feel it in the air. It's like an awkwardness that won't go away. Things between them feel so uncomfortable, and Christine has never felt uncomfortable around her best friend before.

She glances over at Michael out of the corner of her eye. He has a grimace on his face as he looks at her. She doesn't understand why he is looking at her that way, but he looks almost disgusted.

And Christine doesn't realize it, but she has a grimace on her face too.


	5. Chapter 5

**Inevitable**

**Chapter 5**

**.**

**.**

_Why does this keep happening to us?_

After the incident in Limbo, Michael and Christine walk back upstairs to the catwalk to finish their homework. (Michael eventually gives in and accepts that the bone is, in fact, an ulna). The only sounds between them are their soft footfalls as they ascend the basement staircase, and the quiet "thank you" Christine offers Michael when he holds the Limbo door open for her. He doesn't say anything in return.

Christine's body feels heavier than it should; she feels exhausted and she can only imagine how tired she must look on the outside as well. She feels a headache brewing in her skull, and she has no doubt it was conceived from her most recent string of sleepless nights and her constant, overwhelmingly unreadable feelings for her best friend. Well, _old_ best friend, Christine decides with a sigh. Because, with each passing minute of silence between them, it is becoming more and more apparent how impossible this will be to mend.

_Or maybe it's too late._

Christine feels disgusted at herself because of the way she acted in Limbo. She isn't sure who moved first, but at this point it doesn't really matter anymore. The point is that it happened again (well, _almost_ happened again) and they can't seem to keep their hands off each other even though they fully know the destruction they are causing to their friendship.

What Christine can't seem to understand is that she and Michael are both completely content to just _ignore_ the problems between them, when they should be acknowledging and accepting the fact that every kiss, every touch, is pushing their friendship farther and farther past the point of repair.

_We can't keep ignoring this for much longer, _Christine's brain rationalizes.

_Sooner or later something is bound to snap._

But as mad and disappointed as she is at herself and her own actions, she isn't for one second mad at Michael. Because this was _all her idea_. She conceived this plan out of fear and desperation, and now she has to pay the price. Her crazy, backwards plan figured that sleeping with Michael, losing their virginities to each other while simultaneously giving him what he clearly always wanted, was going to keep him hers forever.

She can't blame Michael for taking her bait.

She has no one to blame but herself.

The rest of their homework assignment is completed in near-silence, accompanied by a mutual feeling of uneasiness between them, and Christine spends half of the time listening to the sporadic rhythm of Michael's pencil as it scratches the answers on his notebook paper.

He hasn't once looked up at her since they left Limbo.

_Will we ever be able to fix everything that is broken and confusing between us?_ Christine wonders to herself as she sneaks another glance at Michael's lowered eyelids.

She sighs and returns her attention to the book in her lap.

At least science makes sense to her; Michael is tying her brain in knots.

* * *

><p>The awkward, uneasy feeling between Michael and Christine seemed to grow larger and more obnoxiously apparent as the late morning turned into the late afternoon. Lust swirled with their existing feelings for each other, and the uncomfortable mix of feelings continued to flow between them even after they finished their homework and left the lab to make an early dinner at Michael's house.<p>

Their 'early dinner' turned out to be cold cereal, eaten wordlessly side-by-side on stools at the breakfast bar in the Hodgin's spacious kitchen.

Christine can't remember the last time she went this long without talking to Michael. It must have been _hours_ since they said more than one word to each other.

She sneaks a look at him out of the corner of her eye. He is spooning the last pieces of his Honey Bunches of Oats into his mouth and reading the back of the cereal box as if it is the most fascinating piece of literature he has ever seen. It's a scene Christine has seen a thousand times before, when they used to spend the night at each other's houses as kids. Michael always reads the back of the cereal box, even if he has read the same box a dozen times before. The habitual action is so endearing and adorable and so…so _Michael_.

Christine suddenly feels like crying.

She blinks away the tears that threaten to fall and clears her throat as Michael stands to rinse his bowl in the sink. She stands as well, bowl in hand, and follows him to the sink.

"Here," Christine is startled when Michael starts speaking to her, "I can wash your dish, Chris."

Christine nods and hands him the bowl. Their fingers touch and Michael's skin feels like fire.

Michael spins around and turns on the water. Christine watches as he pours soap into the bowls and rinses them under the running water. She can't tear her eyes away from his face, like she is trying to memorize his features in case she forgets.

Or in case she never sees him again.

Christine logically knows she will see him again, at school and the Lab and family get-togethers. But she understands now that she will never truly _see_ Michael in the way she has every time before. She is suddenly filled with a strong sense of dread that threatens to swallow her whole. She feels like this is the end of a chapter in her life, and she isn't sure Michael is in the next chapter. She realizes that the teenage boy washing the bowls in the sink isn't the same Michael she grew up with, and she isn't the same Christine.

Everything is ruined between them, and Christine understands now that nothing will be the same.

Tears prick at her eyes again.

Christine knows this is all her fault, and she finally sees everything she ruined. She came up with this plan because she didn't want to lose him, and now her stupid, backwards logic convinced them to do the one thing that could tear them apart.

She ruined everything.

Christine feels like she should be saying "Goodbye".

Michael places the bowls and spoons in the dishwasher, and turns to face Christine just as a tear breaks from the dam and rolls slowly down her cheek.

He notices it instantly, but neither of them acknowledges it as it leaves a wet trail down her cheek and drips off of her jaw onto the tile floor.

"M-Michael?"

She chokes on his name as she breaks the silence between them in a near-whisper.

It's then that she really, truly looks at the man standing in front of her. He looks _exhausted_, like he aged a hundred years in only a few moments. His ever-messy hair is sticking up from running his hands through it too frequently and he can't quite meet her eyes. He looks like a defeated man, someone who played a game without knowing the rules and simply gave up.

"Christine."

He doesn't say her name as a question, but more as a plea. A plea for what, Christine doesn't know. But he says her name once, softly and desperately, like a starving man asking for food.

He looks so defeated and confused and absolutely heartbroken, and Christine wishes she could save him from everything she has caused him. But she doesn't know how.

How can she possibly mend all of the wounds she has caused him?

Christine isn't sure she will ever be able to fix him and his defeated heart. She isn't sure she will be able to reverse the damage they caused. They both played a part in this, but it was clearly her stupid idea that started it all.

_How can she save him from herself?_

But he looks at her like she is a raft in the middle of his ocean, like she is the only thing that can save his broken soul.

So with a small step forward, she closes the gap between them. She wraps her arms around his waist, and slowly, achingly, painfully, _heartbreakingly_ kisses his pain away.


End file.
